Why I Stay

I have a degree in Biblical studies and humanities and I am currently one semester away from finishing a master’s degree in theology. This is not the easiest thing to lead with when I meet new people, but any sort of holding back ends up making me look like a liar. Even if I mitigate the bachelor’s degree by telling them that it’s a degree in humanities (see also, English), that only buys me a few seconds of time before they ask, “So what are you doing now?”

“I’m in graduate school,” I say, foreboding in my heart.

“Oh? What for?”

“Theology,” I say, because what is the secular equivalent of a graduate degree in theology? (spoiler alert: there is none)

“Oh. What will you do with that?”

That’s pretty much the end of polite conversation (Boyfriend says I should respond, “I’m going to frame it” but I never manage that in the heat of the moment). There are too many unknown factors to navigate the murkiness with a stranger. Does she want to know about my dream to move back to Atlanta? Does he want to be reassured that I don’t want to be a preacher? Does she want to hear that I have no idea what I will “do with that,” that I am lost, confused, and continuing on this path only by the grace of God?

Perhaps the most honest answer is that I am doing this out of love.

Love for God.

Love for God’s people.

And love for God’s church.

There are plenty of valid criticisms of the church in the United States. And there are plenty of people who claim to know why “millennials” are leaving the church in droves (you can probably find at least four different explanations in your Facebook news feed. Just scroll down a bit).

I’m not going to talk about why millennials are leaving the church. And I’m not going to talk about the criticisms, not today, at least.

Today I want to talk about why I am staying and why I think you should stay.

When I say, “stay,” I want to make sure that we’re talking about the same thing: I don’t mean I have managed to maintain my belief in Christ, although that’s important. When I say “stay,” I mean I have stayed committed to a local congregation of believers: the body of Christ Incarnate.

I stay because I know a church where most of the young married and dating couples are in interracial relationships.

I stay because I know a church who has committed that they will provide their promised support for their missionaries, even if that means other areas (like staff salaries) don’t get funds.

I stay because I know a church where the music minister can happen upon a lady crying on the church steps afterhours and be late for his dinner date to pray with her and offer advice.

I stay because I know a church who continues to let the 80 year old organist play because she loves to play the organ…even though she’s awful. I stay because they care about her more than they care about looking good for outsiders and newcomers.

I stay because I know a church that welcomes, supports, and encourages people who are struggling through their sexuality and gender identity.

I stay because I know a church that focuses on missions in February when other churches are talking about dating, marriage, and sex, because Valentine’s Day.

I stay because I know a church that allows a woman to bring her dog with her to Sunday services because she is still mourning her son’s death.

I stay because while the church has problems, there is so much to hope for.

I stay because I am willing to work to make a change.

I stay because the church will be around long after I’m dead.

I understand the criticisms, and I know what keeps you away. I know I have been fortunate to find loving and supportive churches to belong to. But they’re out there. Everywhere.

I stay because Jesus loves the church and I love what Jesus loves.

Mysterium Fide

I have heard it said that when Peter first made his confession of faith, "You are the Christ," he didn't really understand what he was affirming. Jesus’ death was still in the distant future and certainly his resurrection was a surprise to the disciples.

Perhaps on the day of Pentecost, preaching his first sermon, Peter could see a bit more clearly what it meant to say that Jesus is the Christ but still he did not know the full demand that confession would make upon his life.

I have heard it said that when Peter was dying on a cross because of his confession, he still did not see the full picture. But certainly, by God’s grace, he saw it more clearly then than he did in the beginning.

The first time I made this confession was when I was baptized. I was 11; before much of life had confronted me, and I made it for a really bad reason. I am grateful that God honored that confession despite my ignorance.

The last time I made this confession was on Saturday when I participated in the Eucharist at my best friend’s wedding.

Like Peter, when I first made my confession, I did not understand what I confessed. By God’s grace, I see more clearly now than I did then, but anyone who knows the state of my heart will quickly see that my understanding is still incomplete.

My prayer is that I can continue to make this confession until I see fully.

Beautiful

When I was working at City of Refuge, one of my daily tasks was to accompany another staff member on his route to pick up children from the community. Our fifteen passenger van careened around tight curves and narrow roads as our driver yelled, “Roller coaster!” which was his passengers’ cue to put their hands in the air and scream. In his van, I came to terms with my inevitable death many times. The children loved him. I, not so much.

That summer was one of paradox. I remember the shock I felt on our first morning (a shock that never really went away) when we turned a corner and there it was, filling our horizon. The Georgia Dome. As we traveled our bus route, I remember thinking, “What must it be like to grow up beneath the shadow (literally) of such wealth?” The children in the English Avenue community, Vine City and Joseph E. Boone are poor—food stamps, drugs, low education levels, out-of-wedlock children; every negative stereotype you associate with inner city Atlanta is true about this area. And they live within walking distance of a land of excess, where paying $180 for a ticket to a football game is a thing people do. Midtown—yuppie downtown Atlanta—is a short bus ride away. And these children and their families are struggling to live hand to mouth in the shadow of the Georgia Dome.

I’ve left Atlanta. I moved away and it broke my heart to leave the children and the city. I live under the shadow of the mountains now and it’s beautiful, just as beautiful as Simpson Street.

Not The Way We Thought It Was

It’s not the way we thought it was. Nothing ever is, I suppose, although we think it will be while we’re thinking it. I also suppose I’m not saying anything too remarkable, just what’s “common to man” and I’m sure when I get older I’ll say it again. There are no villains and there are no heroes, no princesses to rescue and nothing dangerous is lurking in the woods. It’s not what you thought it was, or what you thought it would be. But it’s good nonetheless.

Calling

I am a product of my parents' calling
and as such it is increasingly challenging to discover
a calling of my own.